


riding life's currents

by dancer4813



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AU where Percy dies and we get to meet Molly a bit earlier, Angst, Dissociation, Heavy Angst, Major AU, Minor Spoilers for Season 2, Poetry, Tal'dorei Campaign, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, offscreen death, really just angst, with hints of Wildemount
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancer4813/pseuds/dancer4813
Summary: Not every meeting is set, not every resurrection pulls through...





	riding life's currents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NotAFicWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAFicWriter/gifts).



> So technically there's no major character death in this fic, but it is going with the alternate universe idea that Percy chose not to come back after Glintshore. If that upsets you, you might want to stay away from this fic. 
> 
> That being said, it was inspired by NotAFicWriter's [tumblr post](http://notaficwriter.tumblr.com/post/169800330512/another-bad-image-from-a-terrible-alternate), after a Talks Machina where Taliesin mentioned how Molly would have come into the story had Percy truly died. 
> 
> The first bit is poetry, partially because I was simply in a poetic mood and partially because I see it as Vex dissociating as she works on stitching Percy's coat back together the night after they return to Whitestone. It's not crucial to the story, but I hope you enjoy it.

The material is like water through her hands.  
No, not like water.  
It’s harsher, unyielding, has been split and torn-  
not in pieces,  
like her heart,  
broken into fragments;  
fragments of  
glass  
strewn across the shoreline,  
caught up in the cloak She’d worn  
and the coat in her hands, worn…  
Threadbare, one might say.  
Vex understands the baring of threads,  
the way they are taken in,  
brought together,  
severed apart,  
stitched into a seam,  
and someday formed into a whole,  
often mending a hole  
created by malice  
or carelessness  
or love.

It’s the sort of love  
where you cling to  
your blankets  
in the early morning, too  
scared  
to face the winter’s chill.  
It’s the sort of love  
where you hold tight to  
what you have  
when you have it,  
spending  
hours, money, time,  
wishing for more, savoring every moment.  
It’s not realizing what you have until it’s gone.

It’s the sort of love  
that sinks its teeth  
into your heart  
and dirties you up,  
staining  
your hands with mud,  
                presented along with flowers  
                from the neighbor’s garden  
your lips with blueberries,  
                harvested early in the morning  
                when the first to the bushes gets  
                the best of the bushel  
your sleeve with tears  
                after you’ve fallen whim to  
                the world of hurt that lingers  
                outside of home, of safety  
your skin, your hair, your shirt with blood  
                shed from a scrape,  
                from falling over your own feet;  
or ripped violently off of them,  
scars left behind,  
precise,  
jagged  
pictures formed on an unwilling canvas.

-o-

She finishes darning the coat in the early hours of the morning, when the sun has not yet risen and the birds have not yet sung with the cresting dawn.

They’d made it back to Whitestone early in the morning, swept up in guilt and frustration.

They’d begged and pleaded, but the echoes of their voices eventually faded to nothing, leaving them to contemplate the honest truth of the matter.

Cassandra hadn’t wept when she came into the temple. Not even when she’d requested help in making him look more presentable.

“Whitestone needs to know,” she said simply, when asked what they would tell the people. “There’s been too many secrets in past years. They deserve to be informed.”

None of them could argue with that.

Vex looks over the Parchwood, clinging tightly to the coat, indecision bubbling within her like the love she’s felt swelling for Percy over the last couple weeks.

_“I should have told you; it’s yours.”_

The memory of her own voice haunts her, and she stands from her cramped position on the floor of her room, one of the sewn-up bullet holes in the coat rough against her thumb. Her chest feels empty as the city had when they first arrived in Whitestone, and she shivers, feeling a chill run down her spine.

Delilah’s scream plays in her mind – _“I broke the world for you!”_ – and Vex feels helpless; the world is so vast, so open, and she’s but a needle in a haystack, a drop in a sea of people who have lived and will live.

Her feet guide her to the door, Trinket lifting his head with a questioning moan, and she shakes her head.

“Stay here, Trinket. Go back to sleep.”

He whines, but obeys.

Hunger and nausea gnaw at her gut as she steps out into the hall, realizing just how long it’s been since she had a proper meal. The fabric beneath her fingers grounds her enough to take one step down the hall, then another, even as the shadows flicker in the firelight, the sight of smoke from the braziers making her heart clench as she passes Percy’s door at the end of the corridor.

Vex takes a moment to glance back over her shoulder toward the others’ rooms, the doors closed, the inhabitants asleep, presumably.

She shakes her head and keeps walking, down the stairs and around a few halls to reach Cassandra’s study.

There’s a moment of hesitation before she knocks, but her knuckles ring out against the wood, the sound reverberating through the air, through the walls.

Not even two seconds later, a voice comes through the door. One that speaks of strength and poise, but also a world-weary exhaustion that Vex knows all too well.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Vex.”

A long pause, enough that she must fight the desire to just leave the coat and go…

“Come in.”

She does, the door creaking slowly, like a tree bending in the wind, and she lets it close behind her as she steps forward, feeling like a messenger delivering solemn news from the front line.

“I have his coat,” she says, the statement weighing heavily on her even when it’s escaped from her lips. “I- I can’t fix… this…” She gestures vaguely around her, “But I could fix this.”

Her hands stretch forward in supplication, the fabric heavy over them, and Cassandra nods, her hands clasped in front of her on the desk, back straight and shoulders back.

“Could you bring it here?”

Vex obliges, walking toward the desk. She drops her gaze to where she’s putting her feet as she does her best to ignore the puffiness around Cassandra’s eyes. Reaching the back of the desk, she holds out her hands again.

Cassandra takes the coat, lifting it carefully from Vex’s hands, then stands herself, so she can hold the coat up before her.

It looks limp when not around his shoulders, formless and aimless. Vex’s eyes are drawn to the holes that she stitched up, the previous rips, the blotches on the fabric of the faintest discoloration.

Cassandra’s attention to it makes Vex nervous as she inspects some of the mending, opening the lapels of the coat and running her fingers across its front as if looking for imperfections. Vex feels as if she’s being judged, and straightens her posture accordingly.

“This is very good work.”

“Thank you.”

What else can she say?

Cassandra holds the coat, obviously intending for Vex to take it back. Vex shakes her head.

“No, it was his. You should have it.”

“I hardly knew him,” Cassandra scoffs, the slightest tinge of amusement to her tone, and Vex looks up to her face, seeing a longing in her eyes, seeing just how tightly her jaw is held.

“But you’re his sister.”

The laugh that sounds torn from Cassandra’s throat is neither ladylike nor part of any decorum.

“What does that matter?” she asks, taking a step forward, the coat still outstretched, held between them. Her eyes glisten in the growing light from the window. “You’re all his family too. Vax showed me the letter; he said it himself. Percival of Vox Machina.”

There’s no denying it, and Vex takes the coat. Cassandra’s hands are pulled back quickly, clasping together again.

“Is there anything else you need?”

Vex thinks of the Hunt, of some unquantified task she’s meant to complete. She thinks of the dragons, of the orb beneath the city, of the boy they’d brought back with them from the Isle of Glass, and the letter that had been tucked into Percy’s pocket.

“No. No, I just had the coat.”

“Then if you could excuse me, I have a memorial service to plan.”

Nodding, Vex backs up, feeling her cheeks heat up with a flush.

“Of course. Thank you for your time, Cassandra. I’ll leave you to your work.”

She gets to the door before she hesitates.

“Cassandra?”

“Yes?”

She turns back, and Cassandra is once again sitting how Vex found her, straight in the chair that almost looks too big for her, hands folded on the desk.

“Let me know if you need anything, all right?”

She can see the younger woman’s shoulders tighten, her breath catching.

“Of course.”

“I’d like to help you, help Whitestone, in any way I can.”

“I’ll let you know if there’s something you can assist with,” Cassandra agrees with a nod, her back still stiff, her lips pressed tight together.

“Thank you.”

And then she’s out the door, the coat even heavier in her hands, her stomach churning and tears burning behind her eyelids.

 -o-

It’s a little after lunchtime, after she finishes the food the servants let her bring out to the courtyard with her, when Vex slips her arms cautiously into the sleeves.

She smelled the gunpowder, the musk, the brimstone and hints of sulfur all through the past night, while stitching up the holes.

_“An evening of unbridled guilt.”_

But it’s different when she pulls it fully over her shoulders and it settles around her like a cape. It’s strong and all-encompassing, and Vex finds herself curled into a ball atop the melting snow some time later, face wet and Pike’s arm around her shoulders.

“I heard there’s a carnival coming through town,” Pike murmurs, when Vex has the strength to sit up a bit. “Do you want to go get your mind off things?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she nods, and Pike helps her stand up as they walk toward the foyer, where the rest of Vox Machina is waiting for them.

Vax and Keyleth step apart from each other as Vex and Pike walk in. Vex pretends not to notice.

“So, I heard there’s a carnival?”

 -o-

The carnival is, admittedly, one of the best she’s seen, especially in recent times, but that doesn’t mean Vex is going to say it out loud. She sees one of the side shows displaying a man blowing fire, and she turns to make a joke to Percy about dragons, only to realize he’s not there.

Pike sticks with her as the others spread out to go their separate ways. Keyleth browses an array of alchemical ingredients while Vax keeps an eye out, obviously wary for trouble to come by. Grog and Scanlan had gone off to play some game of strength, and Vex almost feels sorry for whoever is running it.

“Come one, come all, to the main attraction of our carnival of curiosities!” calls a voice, strident over the murmur of the crowd. Vex has never seen the people of the city so lively, and she must admit that it’s good to see them excited about something.

She glances up toward the castle, distant, where the windows are dark, where she suspects Cassandra is still lurking.

“You there! You look like you might enjoy a good show!”

Vex turns to see a lavender-skinned tiefling, red eyes alight with excitement, brandishing a flyer at her. His horns are covered in various piercings, and his smile is just a little too wide to be comfortable.

“Yes, you! I’m sure you would be most interested in our show tonight – you’re already at the carnival, and just a small admittance fee to our main tent will provide you with a tale you’ve never heard before, spanning the oceans with its myth, not to mention the opportunity to be astounded by the best performers this side of Tal’dorei.”

Vex raised an eyebrow. “What makes them the best?” she asked, keeping an eye on the flowing robe covered with dozens of symbols, from suns to arrows to what could be arcane sigils. Something made her suspicious of him.

“Why you won’t know unless you come,” the tiefling said slyly, spinning the flyer between his fingers and holding it out. Vex ignored it, but he only grinned again, sweeping some hair out of his face and turning his head to reveal an intricate tattoo of a peacock on the side of his neck, its tail feathers disappearing under his shirt. “Only five copper for entry, and people will be buying you drinks to hear the tale of what you saw at our travelling carnival of curiosities.”

“I’ll discuss it with my friends,” she said, relatively unamused. The tiefling bowed his head, tipping an imaginary hat with his free hand and tried, again, to give her a flyer. She kept her arms firmly crossed, and he swept it under his arm instead, still smiling.

“We look forward to having you at our show! In the meantime, would you be interested in a card reading?”

He smirked, pulling a well-worn deck of cards from seemingly nowhere and tossing them between his hands.

“I really wouldn’t,” she said, thinking of a blind man in Ank’harel and Percy’s presence at her side, a set of clasped hands and a sunrise laid out in stark ink on a brightly-colored mat beneath the midday sun. “But thank you for the offer.”

“Another time then,” the tiefling said, stowing the cards away as he took a sweeping bow, his robe swinging around him. “If you need me, simply call for Mollymauk – I’ll be around to answer any questions you might have.”

“I’ll do that.”

She turns away, intending to find Pike, wherever she might have wandered off to. A carnival was all fun and games, quite literally, but her chest hurt and she didn’t want to stay, nor leave the rest of them without letting someone know.

“By the way!” Mollymauk called from behind her. Vex turned, eyeing him carefully, but he only smirked, pulling at one side of his robe. “That’s a good choice of coat!”

He winked and turned on his heel, continuing to head down the road and slipping flyers to various citizens of the city, leaving Vex alone in the center of the street, a piercing ache in her chest and her fists clenching beneath the too-long sleeves of the blue coat.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they go to the show anyway because Vex is suspicious as hell and they basically corner him after the show and he probably gets the blunt end of a dagger to the back of the head, an arrow drawn to his nose so he can't help but look cross-eyed at it.... And who knows where we would be now?
> 
> I definitely cried writing this, and I'm not sure how well any of us would have been able to forgive Taliesin if he'd really brought in a carnival that told the tale of "The Terrible Tinkerer of Tal'dorei", but thanks to NotAFicWriter for this idea, even if it gave me too many feels ;_;


End file.
